“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label sun sets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sun sets. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 15, 2020
The sun sets
The way we flock to the shoreline
for the small chance
to catch a green flash
between blinks
-is the same
as knowing the sun will set
and yet
it will only get dark.
It reminded me
of this Red Sea
swelling and sinking
between you and me
making that rosy glow
more ominous
than optimistic.
We keep a trained eye
on each other
from our respective
ground
unable to make out details
like friend or foe,
you just know
outlines
the bend of the horizon
and how the melting shadows
run together.
The way we hope
and take chances
for a ride,
reminds me
of the underlying breeze
caused by our spinning worlds
neither pushing nor pulling
but settles
for warm bodies watching
until The End.
Painting by James Richard Marquis (1833-1855), 'Man o War and buoy at sunset' in Public domain.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Gravitas
For every poem I put here, there are four more never shared, around six never written and twenty-seven partially thought out. For every word...

-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Someone said, the full moon looks larger in the city because of skyscrapers- which said nothing about people feeling smaller, more co...
-
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...